


you took a room and you settled in

by spock



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gay Male Character, Gen, Head Injury, Muteness, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Native American Character(s), Skeletons, Supernatural Elements, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're the first human I've ever spoken to." Mojag had to shout so that he could be heard over the rain. His voice echoed and ricocheted throughout the cave, making its hoarse quality even more pronounced.  "Spoken <i>at</i>," he amended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you took a room and you settled in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samuraiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuraiter/gifts).



The frost settled in early, carrying the morning chill deep into the afternoon, even when the sun had been at its highest point in the sky, cutting the days short, as good a sign as any that the rainy season would arrive sooner rather than later, nipping at the heels at the cold front that summoned it. Hassun and the other warriors were called upon to help build long houses, and the first few days of their laboring produced nothing but frustration. Men skilled in building were low in number, most lost to a fire that had deviated their community at the start of summer; only a handful with any tried experience remained. 

The fire had taken away Kitchi, the most skilled crafter they'd had in generations, though he had been just as keen of a hunter, was always known to join in on hunting parties whenever Hassun had asked it of him. They'd been the tallest of their people, standing nearly as high as the corn stalks, but it hadn't always been that way. As children they'd been little more than runts, so small and thin that even the girls took to bullying them. Hassun had been fourteen when he's tied his spirit to Kitchi's, and the following winter they'd both shot up and filled out, muscle finally packing on to their bones. It was a tale Kitchi loved to spin for each new batch of children that were finally old enough to sit still and listen to it. Even ten years later, he would recount that time in their lives as if it'd only happened yesterday, though by then only the elders could recall a time when Hassun and he were small like Kitchi's stories claimed. The children refused to believe a single one of Kitchi's words, though he never lied. 

There hadn't been any hope of snuffing out the fire, but Hassun had ran towards the blaze, not from it. He called for Kitchi countless times, yet he never got a response. Later, he'd found that he no longer had the ability to speak, though it wasn't much of loss; even if he'd been able, the will to speak wasn't in him. The last sounds he would ever make would be those that formed Kitchi's name.

His mutism was a problem at the building site, made giving and receiving instructions a chore, though he wasn't all that bad a craftsmen, couldn't be, not after knowing Kitchi for as long as he had. By the third day he and three others were cast off, more grief than their fumbling help was worth. 

The rain the clouds predicted still hadn't arrived, so the four decided to make themselves useful in the only way they knew how. They left on a hunting trip in the pre-dawn light, expecting not to be gone for more than a day or two. 

It was cold enough that they moved quickly out of the sheer need to keep their muscles from locking up. Hassun had shorn his hair after Kitchi's death to show his grief, and this winter would mark the first since childhood that it hadn't reached his shoulders, his neck not accustomed to his neck feeling the air's cold bite — the way it snuck back the topmost knob of his spine to raise gooseflesh down the length of his back, no matter how tightly he clutched his traveling blanket around his shoulders.

A flash of white caught his eye and Hassun stopped to stare out into the dense nest of trees just below the slope of the path they were walking on, straining his ears to pick out the sound of hooves or the snap of brush. After a few moments he gave up, turned to see where his companions had gone, only to find that they had completely vanished from his line of sight. 

He ran and followed the bend in the well-worn path to see if he could catch up to them. He saw that their footsteps led into a thicket just to the left of the path. Before he could think to join them he heard a loud rustling back where he'd been. Hassun faltered for a few moments, weighing his options, before he decided to chase after the prey that had first caught his eye. Three men were more than enough for whatever had caught the other warrior's attentions. He would face his prey alone.

☠

Hassun awoke in stages, disorientated as to where he was and how he'd gotten there. His eyelids felt like they were heavier than the earth, his eyes like the entire coast's worth of sand were gritted into them. When he finally got them open enough to see, his eyes registered nothing but darkness, such darkness that his first thought had been that he must have died, though he had no idea how he met his end.

Then the nausea began settling in, bringing with it an intense throbbing pain at the base of his skull, so intense pushed all thoughts from his mind. Instinctively, Hassun tried to roll onto his back, as if that would allow him to escape his agony. By the time both his shoulders were settled into the cold ground beneath him he was covered in sweat, fighting to catch his breath through the onslaught of pain. 

He gritted his teeth together and did his best to focus, tried to piece together what had led him to this point. Hassun remembered darting down the slope and towards the trees where he had seen a flash of white. He remembered catching sight of that white blur and chasing after it once it bolted. Judging by the speed, he guessed it to have been a deer, though he hadn't gotten all that good a look at it. He didn't know how far he'd run; his legs didn’t ache, weren’t fatigued, so it couldn't have been too far of a distance. His mind recalled a crack of thunder, and then darkness, but his body didn't ache badly enough for it to have been a lighting strike.

Hassun hoped that whatever had hurt him hadn't left him blind. Muteness he had found a way to live with; he wasn't sure he'd have the same luck with sightlessness. 

What Hassun knew for sure was that he had a concussion. He'd experienced the symptoms before, though it’d been a while since the last, the first time in his life that he’d had to deal with them without Kitchi there to care for him, and because of that he'd never felt as badly as he did right then. He was alone now, with no Kitchi to shame him for his recklessness, even as he stroked Hassun's hair and fed him that terrible broth their healer insisted everyone eat whenever they took ill. He hadn't needed anyone to look after him since Kitchi's passing, hadn't wanted them too, but Hassun knew he needed tending for now. Idly, he wondered if the other men were out looking for them. Hassun would be an easy target to track; he hadn't paid any mind to masking his path while he'd been chasing after his deer. 

Thinking did nothing more than worsen his nausea and disorientation; it wouldn't solve anything or improve his situation, so Hassun closed his eyes against the darkness surrounding him and did his best to even his breathing, counting his breaths. 

The next time he awoke, the sun was just beginning to rise, providing some much needed light and quelling Hassun's fears of blindness. He slowly dragged his eyes across his surroundings, his sluggish brain taking a while to realize that he was in a cave, not all that far from its mouth, but still set back enough so that animals wouldn't wonder close and bother him. The nausea and headache from the night before still plagued him, and they were most likely to blame for his delayed reaction to the crackle and pop of wood burning to his left.

The fire provided just enough light that he could see deeper into the cave, and Hassune found himself alone. He thought it strange, that there was a fire burning and obviously tending to, but couldn't direct enough sustained focus on the thought to puzzle out just why that was. His headache flared and he closed his eyes again. Breathing in the smoke from the fire, he tried to find some comfort in it, focus his mind around it.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the morning. At one point he felt something poke hard at his cheek, but his eyes felt heavy, more effort than he wanted to expend to investigate. In the end it didn't matter; a hand coaxed his mouth open and poured a few sips of water into it. The wooden rim of a bowl resting against his lips while the hand waited for Hassun to swallow before allowing him more, until the bowl had been drained.

It was a pattern that repeated each time Hassun had the slightest bit of lucidness. Most times he'd open his eyes to find that he was alone in the cave, with a cooked bird or fish sitting on a wooden plate beside his head, still warm, ready for Hassun to discover and eat it, his bowl of water refilled as if it had never gone dry in the first place. 

At the end of the first night Hassun finally found a reason to move. Standing and walking were beyond his capabilities, so instead he crawled to the mouth of the cave and shoved his leggings down just enough so that he could pull his dick out and relieve himself. Once he was done he sat there for a while, stared out into the darkness to see if he could make out the smoke of someone else's campfire, or a wigwam hidden amongst the trees, where someone might have turned in for the night. 

The next day Hassun woke before twilight to a still empty cave. He finally felt well enough to sit upright, so he twisted the blanket around his body and waited for his caregiver to come back to him. His fire had recently been stoked, so Hassun guessed that they wouldn't return until midmorning, when it would likely need tending to again. A storm moved in around dawn, cloudy skies keeping the world outside Hassun's cave nearly as shrouded as it was inside of it. He hoped that his caretaker would arrive soon; they'd be caught in the eventual downpour otherwise. 

Rain fell, just as Hassun predicted, and he resigned himself to being alone until it finally let up. The fire was fine and he was still full from the meal that'd been left the night before, so he wasn't overly concerned. It wasn't his body that needed to be sated, it was his curiosity. 

Around midday a figure finally approached the cave, wrapped in a shawl to shield themselves from the rain. Hassun waited patiently for them to come inside and remove the hood so that he could see their face.

"He finally wakes," the man said. His voice was hoarse and his words were clipped, though his tone conveyed some level of amusement. Hassun found himself smiling in return as he watched the man slip the hood of his shawl — revealing the head of a skeleton.

The smile dropped from Hassun's face, replaced instead by a blank expression that belied the terror that shot through him. He was so frightened that he couldn't move — he knew that he would be unable to make a noise, that if he hadn't already been mute, the sight that greeted him now surely steal his voice away from him forever. He dropped his eyes down to the floor and held his breath, as if that would save him. 

"Oh no," the skeleton sounded remorseful, disappointed. "You must not be frightened. Come, look at me. The heart fears only what the mind does not know."

Hassun clutched at the blanket wrapped around his body and squeezed his eyes shut for a few tense seconds. He breathed out harshly and steeled himself before raising his head and letting his gaze rest on the skeleton. He'd completely removed his shawl and was stood next to the fire, drying his bones. Hassun stared at his body for a long while before dragging his gaze up to the skeleton's face. He did his best to stare directly at the gaping holes where his eyes would have been, had the skeleton had any. 

"Better," the skeleton declared. "I took pity on you, and now you must take pity on me. Keep me company until the storm clears." Hassun was helpless to do anything but nod.

He watched as the skeleton folded up his shawl and used it as a cushion when he sat next to where Hassun had propped himself up against the cave wall. "What is your name, then?" The skeleton asked. Hassun shook his head and tried to get his hands free from his blanket, so that he could beginning signing, but the skeleton spoke again before he had the chance. "Oh no, can you not speak? How unfortunate. I was never taught the other language," he lamented, pointing his bony finger at Hassun's hands. 

Hassun stared at the skeleton, and the skeleton stared back at him. It was impossible for the skeleton's face to show any emotion, but Hassun could not help but feel like his eyeless gaze was expectant. Finally the skeleton sighed and said, "It's fine, I can talk enough for the both of us. My name is Mojag, by the way, though you'll never have any use for it, I suppose." 

Hassun smiled when he heard the skeleton's name, and Mojag visibly perked up. "I know! How could anyone have ever known that it would be a name that would fit me so perfectly?" He paused, seemingly waiting for Hassun to answer. Hassun shrugged, because he had no idea why some names would grow to fit their owner so well, while others were so far off the mark they were that it became a joke in and of itself. Good outcome or bad, it was all luck in the end. Hassun would never claim to comprehend something as random as that.

Mojag stood and grabbed the bowl Hassun drank from as he walked to the mouth of the cave. He sat it down so that the rain could collect itself in it. "You're the first human I've ever spoken to." Mojag had to shout so that he could be heard over the rain. His voice echoed and ricocheted throughout the cave, making its hoarse quality even more pronounced. "Spoken _at_ ," he amended.

Once the bowl was full he picked it up and walked back to Hassun. "It was me you spotted, not an animal," he said, handing Hassun the goal. "No one ever sees _me_. It was all very exciting, having you chance after me like that." Hassun smiled and drank. Mojag waited until he'd swallowed down about half its contents before speaking again, offering, "It's warmer by the fire. Would you like me to help move you?"

Hassun felt fear well up inside of him again at the thought of being touched by a skeleton, of what it would do to him. But Mojag had been nothing but kind to him, and Hassun's pride wouldn't allow him to shy away from his fears anyway, so he nodded his head and grabbed Mojag's forearm before he could think on it too hardly. It took them longer than it should have to cover the short distance, both of them taking their time to compensate for Hassun's unsteadiness. 

Once they were seated again Mojag asked him many questions. He made sure to phrase them so that they required yes or no answers, though as things progressed the questions got more and more complex. It became obvious to Hassun that the man was playing a game with himself, to see how well he could phrase difficult questions in a way that Hassun could still answer with a nod or shake of his head. Mojag spent ages saying sounds, trying to come up with the right combination to learn Hassun's name. Eventually Hassun took pity on him and touched the stone wall with his eyebrows raised. It had only taken Mojag three tries after that to accurately surmise his name. 

"Do you have any questions for me then, Hassun?" Mojag asked at last. Hassun had started nodding before Mojag had even finished speaking, which caused him to laugh at Hassun's eagerness. "I have no answers for the interesting things, sadly. I do not know what the afterlife is like. If I was alive before this, I remember nothing of that life. I know not of how I came to be; one day there was nothing, and the next there was everything. The only thing I woke up knowing was that my name was to be Mojag. I eat and drink. I do not sleep."

Hassun frowned and reached out, placing his hand on Mojag's knee. He glanced down at where Hassun's warm skin rested against the cold bone for a while, before tentatively covering Hassun's hand with his own.

"It's my fault that you have a concussion," Mojag admitted. "I saw you walking and something in me said that I had to protect you. Then, somehow — somehow you saw me; that was how I knew my feeling was right," he continued on, words bubbling out of him in a rush, "And then you were going to give up on chasing me and return to your friends, and I could not let you. There are times when the weather acts up at the behest of my moods, when I'm anxious — lighting struck a branch and it fell on you. I _willed_ it to."

Mojag's hand was gripping Hassun's tightly, to the point of pain, the bones digging their way into the meat of his palm. "Your friends, they went after a bear, and it killed them. If you had gone back to look for them it would have taken your life too." Mojag's already hoarse voice sounded even more strained as he willed Hassun to understand his actions.

"I wish that you could say something," Mojag said. "Tell me that you aren't mad at me, Hassun." Hassun's grip had slacked in shock, all the strength leaving his body at once. He came back to himself at the pain in Mojag's voice. He nodded his head in understanding and gripped Mojag's knee tighter, in reassurance. He wasn't upset; he was shocked at how close he had come to losing his life, and saddened that three other men hadn't been so lucky. 

Eventually Mojag let go of Hassun's hand and let out a sympathetic sound when he saw the bruises left behind from his grip, though Hassun wasn't concerned by them. The pain had helped to ground him. Mojag lifted his hand to touch Hassun's head, but froze with his hand in the air before it made contact with Hassun's skin. He looked at Hassun and waited, seeking permission. Hassun frowned at his sudden timidness and took hold of Mojag's hand, set it on the side of his face so that tips of Mojag's fingers slipped into his hair. 

"Now you are healed," Mojag announced. He petted Hassun a few times, kindly, gently, and it made Hassun smile. Mojag let his hand slip from Hassun's hair and returned it to the cradle of his lap. The fogginess plaguing Hassun's mind cleared, and he no longer felt nauseous or tried. He watched as Mojag turned to stare out into the forest beyond the cave, and listened when he said, "The rain will let up soon. The bear still roams the forest; I will lead you back to your village. I won't bother you when I'm around."

Hassun nodded his agreement and they sat there in silence, waiting for the rain to clear. He wanted so badly for Mojag to speak again, to ask him more questions, but he had no idea how to go about making it happen.

He spent their entire walk back to his village with those thoughts swirling around in his head, so lost in thought that he nearly missed their arrival. He looked helplessly at Mojag, willing him to say something, to extend their reason for staying together just a few moments more. Finally Mojag spoke, and with the sound of his voice Hassun felt like he was finally able to breathe since they'd left the cave. 

"Be safe, silent Hassun," Mojag told him. His jaw stayed open, as if he had more to add, but it was only a few rapid heartbeats before he let it close again, allowing those to be his final words. Hassun decided that he wouldn't be content with such a goodbye, and because he had no words of his own to part with he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Mojag, careful not to jostle or crush his bones too roughly.

Hassun held him for as long as Mojag would allow, until Mojag finally spoke again to say, "I've never gotten one of _these_ before," and laughed. Hassun pulled away so that he could look at Mojag's face. He could sense that the skeleton was smiling, even though the bones were unable to show it. Mojag gave one last wave before turning back to the path and walking into the forest. 

He stared at Mojag's retreating form, feeling a deep sadness welling up inside of him. Without thinking, he opened his mouth and attempted to shout _Kitchi_ , but it came out strangled and wrong, barely discernible and just above a whisper. 

Mojag tripped, his shoulder jerking very slightly, but within the blink of an eye he righted his gait and kept walking until he slipped into the brush, where Hassun could no longer see him.

Hassun shook his head a few times at his own foolishness and sighed, running a hand over his mouth as made his way into the clearing that marked the outskirts of his village.

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween! 
> 
> this is based off a native american myth/ghost story i've heard told a few different ways. you mentioned being open to a trick or a treat, so i slept on it and came up with this. is it a trick? a treat? did hassun die when the branch struck him? was mojag a memory-wiped kitchi? even i don't even know, but i really hope you like it.


End file.
